


Not the Absence of Fear

by anaraine



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bechdel Test Pass, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-30
Updated: 2012-04-30
Packaged: 2017-11-04 17:57:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/396610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anaraine/pseuds/anaraine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kat would like to forget about Roosevelt Asylum. Really. She would. But it turns out she's just not that kind of girl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not the Absence of Fear

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Snickfic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snickfic/gifts).



> (Originally posted [here](http://anaraine.dreamwidth.org/97741.html).)

Kat doesn't really think of herself as brave or courageous. She jumps when she sees spiders in her peripheral vision, even though she _knows_ they can't hurt her. The one time that a mouse had skittered across the kitchen floor, Kat had screamed bloody murder and climbed onto one of the chairs, waiting there anxiously until her father had come running to get rid of it. She _hates_ horror movies with a passion (even though her father loves them, and as such, has seen more than a few) and would really like to pretend that they don't exist.

So it's perfectly normal if she tries to forget _that night_ , right?

Well, not forget forget, because she's going to pay extra special attention to anything that even hints at being haunted and stay as far away from it as possible. But it's _normal_ that she doesn't want to remember Roosevelt Asylum.

Kat doesn't want to think of the icy cold that had sunk down into her bones, the rotting smell that filled her nostrils and the croaky whisper that hurt her ears. She doesn't want to think of how lucky she and Gavin were. She doesn't want to think of how she could have died, like that cop had. She doesn't want to think about what could have happened if those two guys hadn't shown up.

And that's part of the problem.

Because she doesn't want to think about it, she _can't_ stop thinking about it.

She wonders how Sam and Dean had known to come to Roosevelt Asylum. (She doesn't remember them talking about it, but she had been so terrified that they might have mentioned it and she just can't remember. Some days, she thinks she's lucky to even remember their names.)

She wonders, again, how Sam and Dean learned about all of the ghost stuff. (She doesn't believe the 'crappy guidance counselor' line one bit.)

She wonders if she and Gavin would have made it out without their help. (She doesn't want to think about the answer to that.)

Then she wonders about other people. And about other ghosts.

And something she doesn't really want to name unfurls low in her stomach.

**◊◊◊**

Kat sits on the edge of a planter at school and watches as Gavin and his group of friends laugh and chatter at the other end of the quad. Unlike her, he seems completely unaffected by the experience. He doesn't have to put on a bit of extra makeup to hide the shadows beneath his eyes, or struggle to have to talk normally with his friends.

She kind of hates him for that.

"Hey, Kat," Nina says, dropping her butt down next to her. "Did you finish the Calculus homework?"

Kat blinks and drops her eyes to look back at Nina's hopeful expression, chuckling slightly. "Of course I did!" Her smile almost feels normal. She digs into her backpack and pulls out her homework as Nina props their textbook on her knees. They sit hunched together as Nina points out the problems she couldn't figure out on her own, and Kat helps to finish her homework. Eventually, their conversation devolves a little bit, bitching about how Mrs. Dee assigns more homework than is really necessary and how Nina still has to find ten more community service hours so she can graduate.

"You can probably get them at the library," Kat says.

Nina makes a face. "I like volunteering there for the summer reading program, but not for Children's Storytime. I swear, that place is haunted."

Kat freezes. "What?"

Nina tugs on one of her pigtails. "I tried volunteering there on Thursdays, remember? I didn't even last a month. It was _creepy_. The lights were always flickering on and off, the AC was on the fritz so it always felt like walking into a fridge, and there were only ever a couple of kids that showed up. It wasn't worth it."

And now that Nina mentions it, Kat _does_ remember. Bile burns at the back of her throat, her hands growing clammy as she looks back at Nina until her vision blurs.

Kat could be imagining things. It's entirely possible that she's superimposing her experience over Nina's words. But as she stares at Nina, looking at her dark olive skin and brown eyes, trying to sear the image into her brain...she tries to imagine a life without her best friend around and fails. Horribly.

"Kat?" Nina asks. "Katherine? Are you okay?"

Kat dredges up a smile. "I'm okay."

Nina's frown deepens. "No, you're not. You look like you just saw a ghost."

Kat tries to keep hysterical laughter from building. "No, really," she manages to choke out, and it doesn't sound too strangled. "I'm okay. I just remembered about the AP One sheet due on Friday, and I haven't started it at all."

Nina looks a little suspicious, but lets it go. "You can use mine as a reference," she offers, and digs around for her notebook.

The lunch bell rings and Kat shakes her head, gathering up her papers and taking the time to put them away nicely even though she wants to run to her next class. "That's okay," Kat declines. "We're not really doing anything in Mrs. Lance's class today. I can finish it then."

**◊◊◊**

When Kat gets home that evening, she sits down at her desk, watching her name slowly bounce across her computer screen. She's already finished all of her homework in an attempt to _not think about it_ , but unless she wants to make dinner (a world of no) or start the laundry (also, no) or watch one of the crummy programs on tv (hahaha, no) she has four hours to kill before she can even think about going to bed.

Her knee bumps against the desk and jostles the mouse, killing the screensaver. Her hand moves without real thought as she opens up her web browser and starts to type her library's name into the search bar. The first result is, of course, the library website. She skims through a few more results and doesn't find what she's looking for. (She doesn't know _exactly_ what she's looking for, but she figures she'll know it it when she sees it.)

She drags her cursor back up to the search bar and edits the terms a few more times, browsing through results and never finding anything that really strikes her as dangerous.

Until she sees the news article. **Young girl, 5, falls from 3rd story window**. She clicks and feels a bit sickened as she reads. It's from 1992 and goes on about young Stephanie Allen who had fallen to her death from the open window in the Storytime room. It talks a little bit about her family, mentions where she's buried, and finishes with the library's decision to permanently seal all of the windows and a snide comment from the author of the article amounting to, "too little, too late".

Kat leans back in her chair and takes a deep breath. She could _still_ be over-thinking things. Letting her imagination run wild. But then she thinks of Nina, and the danger she might have been in without even knowing, and tells herself that she owes it to karma or something to take a look.

**◊◊◊**

Kat is digging through the pantry when her father comes home. The heavy thump of his briefcase on the kitchen table and the squeak of his shoes on the tiled floor lets her track him as he gets close enough to talk to. "Hey, dad, what's the difference between table salt and rock salt?"

"One you put on food the other you find in nature," her father replies, although she can hear the confusion in it.

Kat steps out of the pantry and pushes her hair back, "Hi, dad. Welcome home," she says, wrapping her arms around him and hugging tightly.

Her father snorts, but hugs her back. "I don't know what's gotten into you, Kit-Kat," he says a little wonderingly, "But I think I like it."

"I just love you," Kat says, even though she feels a little guilty that she has to say it. Between school and work, she had never realized how much they had grown apart.

"I love you, too," her father replies, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head.

**◊◊◊**

Kat finds some time to go by the library on Saturday. In the morning, she ties her hair back in a thick plait and packs her supplies. The canisters of salt are all carefully arranged in the larger pocket, while a box of matches and a small bottle of lighter fluid are tucked away to the side. A printout from Mapquest that leads to the graveyard where Stephanie is buried fits into her back pocket. She's not expecting to use any of it because this is just a reconnaissance mission, but she really doesn't want to be helpless again.

The library is filled with it's usual quiet chaos, a low bundle of murmurs filtering to her ears as she takes the stairs up to the noisier second floor, stopping at the information desk when she sees a familiar face.

"Hey, Ms. Juliet." Kat smiles and hopes it doesn't look too strained.

"Hello, Katherine," Juliet replies, stepping away from the cart of books to come closer. "How may I help you?"

"I need to do a couple more hours of community service," Kat lies. "I was hoping that you had a slot open somewhere where I could help. Children's Storytime, maybe?" Her backpack suddenly feels like an anvil, heavy on her shoulders and pushing her down towards the floor.

Juliet purses her lips. "I'm afraid not. We've cancelled Storytime for the indefinite future."

Kat blinks. "How come?"

"There's something wrong with the third floor," Juliet tells her. "The electricity isn't running correctly, even though we've called in an electrician who tells us that there is nothing wrong. We've decided to close the third floor for the time being."

"Oh," Kat says, her mind racing. "Well, do you have anything else I could help with?" She has to keep with her story, even though she really doesn't want to be tied down to the library with extra community service hours.

"I'm afraid not," Juliet says regretfully. "With the last minute rush of seniors trying to make their requisite hours—"

"It's okay," Kat interrupts her, more relieved than she'd like to show. "I just wanted to check here first."

"Good luck with your search," Juliet offers, and Kat nods her thanks, adjusting her backpack as she heads back towards the stairs.

Kat hesitates on the landing, waiting long enough that a small family has to ask her to move so they can make their way downstairs. Watching as the little girl and boy share their finds in not-quite-library-appropriate voices, Kat decides that if she's come this far, she might as well go the rest of the way.

Looking around carefully, Kat makes sure that nobody is watching as she turns towards the stairs that lead up to the darkened third floor, darting up as quickly and quietly as she can. The moment her foot hits the next landing she knows she's not imagining anything. It's like she's been dunked in ice and she hasn't even made it to the Storytime room yet.

She walks slowly down the hall, legs shaking and goosebumps rising on her skin. It's possible that what she's doing is incredibly stupid, but she made her decision and she's going to stick with it. Her hand reaches for the doorknob and the lights flicker on and then off again. It only takes a split second for her to glance back at the lights, but it's long enough for the door to click open an inch, when Kat _knows_ it had been completely closed.

Taking a deep breath, Kat steps into the Storytime room. The only light in the room comes from the window, and that is covered by a translucent white curtain. It gives the room an eerie glow, one that reminds her all too well of Roosevelt Asylum. She takes another step closer to the window and then stops.

A little girl stands next to the window. She's wearing a white Sunday dress with white Mary Janes, combined with a red headband that pushes back her bangs.

Kat's backpack feels heavier than ever.

"Stephanie?" Kat tries, because listening to the patients at Roosevelt Asylum _had_ helped.

The girl flickers and then appears in front of Kat, looking up at her through squinted eyes. "You're not my mommy," she says, and bares her teeth.

Kat has a second to think _what the hell_ before she's thrown backwards into the wall and choking back a scream. Then she's scrambling for her backpack, unzipping the pocket to grab a canister of salt and flick the spout open. When Stephanie reappears in front of her, a small hand raised with tiny, manicured nails, Kat shakes the canister and pours as much salt out as she can. Stephanie screeches and disappears, and Kat doesn't waste any time. She runs out the door and down both flights of stairs, bolting into the ladies' bathroom and hoping nobody saw her or heard Stephanie screaming.

She collapses onto the tiled floor and hugs her legs, breathing hard and absolutely terrified.

But she also knows what she has to do.

**◊◊◊**

Kat sneaks into the cemetery at about midnight, after telling her father that she was going out to see a midnight premiere. She's brought one of those folding shovels with her, as well as her filled backpack.

Little Stephanie Allen's grave is exactly where the newspaper article said, marked clearly with a tombstone where a small angel perched, it's hands clasped in prayer.

It makes Kat feel even worse.

Grave-digging has _never_ been on her to-do list, and the beady eyes of the angel seem to accuse her as Kat digs and digs and _digs_. It's hard. She's not particularly athletic, and her arms ache. But she thinks of how Nina said that only the Storytime room was cold, and how to Kat, it was the entire floor. She thinks of all of the people that go to their library and how Stephanie's range appears to be growing, and she can't just turn her head and leave things be. Someone could _die_.

The shovel closes on her hand more times than she can count but Kat continues to dig. When she _finally_ hits something that doesn't feel like a rock or dirt, she feels like jumping for joy. She doesn't know how long she's been here, but it appears to be getting a little bit brighter. Dropping to her knees, Kat brushes her hands through the dirt and manages to find the edges of the coffin.

Taking her shovel in hand, she jimmies it between the lid and the coffin as best she can, and then jumps, throwing her entire weight against the shovel in an attempt to break open the coffin.

Her shovel breaks instead.

Kat swears. Loudly.

The noise in the quiet of the night startles her, and she bites down on her lip and peers over the edge of her hole with hopes that no one heard her.

She's gotten to the point where she's angry and tired and just wants to go _home_ , so she takes the broken end of her shovel and hammers it against the coffin lid until the wood splinters and breaks. She wants to dig her hands into the wood and _pull_ , but she can see the splinters that would dig into her hands, splinters that would be very hard to explain. So she continues to chip away at the wood until she can see all of the skeleton.

Kat swallows hard. The skeleton is wearing a white Sunday dress and white Mary Janes that seem to glow in the moonlight. Kat throws her shovel pieces over the edge of the hole, and then climbs out herself. She takes out a canister of salt and liberally dumps the entire thing over the skeleton. The lighter fluid comes next, and aiming her squirts becomes easier once she decides to get the dress good and wet.

Striking the match against the side of the box, Kat is poised to toss the flame down into the hole when something slams into her with the force of a small mack truck. She tumbles head over heels, the box of matches crunching in her hand. When she gains enough of her bearings to _look_ , Stephanie is standing in front of her again, small hand dangerously close to her throat.

Kat rolls through the girl, gaining precious inches towards the grave and striking another match, tossing it towards the grave and missing by inches. The match sputters out in the wet grass, and Kat spares a moment to be thankful she hadn't started a fire that could sweep over the entire cemetery.

Stephanie screeches and reappears as Kat manages to light a third match, inching her way forward on her elbows as an invisible pressure tries to shove her into the dirt. Her head grows too heavy to keep up, and Kat tosses the match and prays as her mouth and nose are filled with dirt and grass. She can't move and it's getting harder and harder to breathe.

_I'm going to die_ , she thinks, and then, a little hysterically, _I wonder what they're going to say when they find me like this_.

Until suddenly, the pressure is gone and Kat is throwing her head back with a wild gasp, breathing in air and dirt as her lungs scream at her. She barely has the presence of mind to watch as Stephanie writhes and screams, disappearing in a cloud of ash. A fire is roaring up from the coffin, licking the edges of the grave and sending smoke up into the air.

Everything in her aches, her tongue is coated in dirt, her clothes are disgusting, and she's sweating like a pig. But Kat can't remember ever being this _proud_ of herself. She feels like she could take on the world. It's like— she did something _important_. Something _amazing_. Is this why Sam and Dean did what they did? They liked helping people, even if most of those people would never know?

Kat would like to sit and think (and _revel_ in her victory, despite the way her hands are still shaking) but she knows she can't afford to be caught out here, and it's only a matter of time before someone sees the fire, even if Stephanie's plot was towards the back of the cemetery. So Kat hobbles over to her backpack and stows all of her supplies. She throws her backpack over the fence and then sucks in her stomach and squeezes herself through the bars. It's a tight fit, but there was absolutely no way she was going through the front entrance.

Head ducked and trying to remain inconspicuous, Kat walks a few blocks to meet up with her car. She tosses her backpack into the trunk and grabs the towels she keeps for emergencies, using them to cover the driver's seat. The loud sound of police sirens spurs her to go faster and within minutes she is driving home.

**◊◊◊**

It takes three hours in the shower to feel clean. The water has gone cold and her teeth are chattering, but Kat continues to scrub at her skin and gargle water to clean her mouth. The back of her left hand is all scraped up (clearly, Kat will be wearing fingerless gloves when she goes to school on Monday) and it feels like she twisted her ankle. But she's still riding an undeniable high, and the world seems so much _brighter_.

A knock comes on the bathroom door, and Kat turns down the water a bit and pushes her head out the side of the shower curtain to hear better.

"Yeah?" she calls.

"Kat? Are you alright?" her father asks.

Kat looks at her reflection in the mirror. There is a livid bruise on her cheek, but the dark circles under her eyes are missing. "I'm great!" she shouts back, and for the first time in a month, she means it.

**◊◊◊**

Her little adventure makes the news. It's on the third page of their newspaper, and a small five minute segment on TV. Nobody ever comes to her to ask questions, and Kat really, truly believes that she got away with it.

Her nightmares aren't scary any more because she knows how to beat them, and eventually they disappear completely. School is normal. She eats lunch with Nina and helps her with Calculus. Her other friends gradually stop bugging her about giving Gavin a second chance. (Kat could only give half-hearted answers, not wanting to explain that she decided to make a life rule about not dating idiots who dragged her to haunted creepy places, ignored her when she said she'd like to leave, and then became completely useless when it turned out the place really was haunted.) Children's Storytime starts up again when the electricity magically starts working.

She's worrying about her English final as she walks to her car, only to stop as she sees a dark haired woman leaning against the passenger side door. She's older than any of the students, but younger than most of Kat's teachers. Maybe early to mid-thirties, and Kat would be surprised if she were younger.

"I could say that about you, sweet pea," the woman says out of the blue, her mouth stretched into a wide smile.

"Excuse me?" Kat asks.

"I didn't think you'd be so young," she replies, and that makes no sense whatsoever. The woman laughs, pushing her sunglasses onto her head. "Hi, my name is Pamela Barnes," and she offers her hand for Kat to take.

"Kat," she replies warily, intentionally giving her a nickname and not making any moves to take her hand. She's not being polite, but this woman is creeping her out.

Pamela's smile widens. "You did a good job back in May."

It takes a second for Kat to catch on. She does her level best not to freeze.

"In fact, it was a _damn_ good job," Pamela continues, tucking her hands into her pockets and rocking on her heels. "Especially for being your first, and a solo. But you should know that Steph was a baby in ghost years. She was a smart baby, in that she'd started to figure out how to affect her surroundings, but if you want to take on some of the older ones, you're going to need a little help to get you going."

Kat manages to find her tongue. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Pamela winks at her. "Of course you don't. But if you ever want some help, you can call me. I live in Sterling, so it's not even that far of a drive." She pulls out a small business card and pushes it through the open crack of her car's window. "It was nice to meet you, Katherine."

**◊◊◊**

Kat sits at the kitchen table, fingering the business card Pamela left and it's tiny gold lettering. It has Pamela's name, her phone number, a P.O. box and the word 'psychic'. It would explain a few things, if she was one.

Dean had told her to stay away from all things haunted, and Kat suddenly wonders what _else_ is out there in the world. When someone says 'haunted' Kat thinks 'ghosts', but if there are psychics too, does that mean that other supernatural things exist? Do vampires walk during the night? Werewolves? _Aliens_?

...does Kat really _want_ to know?

She mulls it over in her head a little bit, weighing pros and cons and remembering the fierce pride of being able to save lives. (She does feel bad for Stephanie Allen. She wishes that there had been some other way to make sure that the little girl wouldn't kill anyone living. But Kat hadn't known of any other way. She was so _new_ at this...)

The answer is yes.

"Hey, dad!" she shouts towards the living room. "Do you feel like going skeet shooting this weekend?"


End file.
